


Snowed In

by huffellepuff



Category: She Loves Me - Bock/Harnick/Masteroff
Genre: F/M, Snowed In, canon up to a point but obviously AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-13
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2019-02-14 03:05:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12998490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/huffellepuff/pseuds/huffellepuff
Summary: He ignored her as he walked to the front window and looked out. As the expression on his face changed from mild annoyance to utter dismay, Amalia felt a sinking in her stomach.“What is it?” she asked, eyeing him warily.“Miss Balash, I don’t think we’re going to make it home tonight.”





	Snowed In

**Author's Note:**

> There's an amazing local production of She Loves Me that I've seen several times so far, and it's gotten me completely in the mood for writing these two again. Trying to get back into the swing of it! :) From an anonymous prompt on tumblr, which I'll post below to avoid spoilers.
> 
> Massive thanks to improbablefiction on tumblr for beta help, as well as Emmett and Rita for !!!!!!!!!!! help.

Amalia was rarely a direct target of Mr. Maraczek’s frustrations - that privilege was usually reserved for Mr. Nowack - but tonight, apparently, she was a casualty. For the last several months, every time Mr. Maraczek had needed someone to stay late and do inventory, he had accepted when Mr. Kodaly and Ilona volunteered. But tonight? He assigned Mr. Nowack and Amalia to the task. She half wondered if he had done it intentionally, in order to better torture Mr. Nowack (as it appeared nothing was of more grief to him than her presence). It certainly served to torture _her_ ; at this moment, she couldn’t think of anywhere in the world that she’d rather be less than working late with Mr. Nowack.

“Mr. Nowack, will you please give me back the clipboard? I told you, this evening will pass by a lot more pleasantly if we each just do our own work,” she said, holding out her hand. It wasn’t like she expected to him to cooperate, but hope springs eternal. 

“No, there is a system, and we have to follow it,” Mr. Nowack said, holding the clipboard away from her. “I’m not going to risk you making a mistake and me getting yelled at for it. Mr. Maraczek doesn’t exactly need any additional reasons these days.”

She frowned. He was right, of course. As much as she disliked him, she couldn’t help but feel that he wasn’t deserving of all the trouble that Mr. Maraczek gave him. She wasn’t about to contribute to it. “Fine. Shall we start with the shampoos?”

“Might as well.” 

For the next hour, Amalia counted products while Mr. Nowack kept track. Then, when he _insisted_ that she was making a mistake because the toilet water counts were repeatedly coming up short, they switched roles. Another hour and no less than seven arguments later, Mr. Nowack came to the same conclusion.

“I told you,” she said, smirking at him. 

“It just doesn’t make sense.” He ran a hand through his hair and sighed.

“Doesn’t make sense that I’d be right?” 

He rolled his eyes. “No, it doesn’t make sense that we’d be that short, and in several different scents.”

“I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation; perhaps a customer’s order didn’t get recorded right, or no one mentioned a box that got dropped.” 

“It’s just going to be another thing Mr. Maraczek can hound me about,” he said. “He’ll probably say I took it.”

“Fortunately, Mr. Nowack, I can back you up - we haven’t left one another’s sight all evening. And he should believe me, as he must know that we’re not exactly each other’s biggest fans.” 

He chuckled. “No, Miss Balash, that we are not.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine.” She hoped she sounded reassuring, but honestly, she was sure of no such thing. Mr. Maraczek’s behavior was as much of a mystery to her as it seemed to be to him. “And either way, we’ll both be better off tomorrow if we get some rest.”

Mr. Nowack didn’t bother acknowledging her before walking into the workroom to get his things. Soon the two of them were ready to go. 

“Good night, Mr. Nowack,” Amalia said as she opened the door. Or, as she _tried_ to open the door.

He lifted an eyebrow at her. “Is everything alright?” 

She tried the handle again, but still the door didn’t budge. “The door won’t open!”

“Here, let me try,” he said, pushing past her and trying the handle. Of course, the door stayed close. “You’re right, I can’t get it to move an inch.” 

“Of course I’m right,” she snapped. “I know you think very little of my abilities, but I _do_ know how to open a door.”

He ignored her as he walked to the front window and looked out. As the expression on his face changed from mild annoyance to utter dismay, Amalia felt a sinking in her stomach. 

“What is it?” she asked, eyeing him warily.

“Miss Balash, I don’t think we’re going to make it home tonight.”

“What do you mean, we’re not going to make it home? Surely the door must just be stuck. Maybe if we try to push it together?” Panic was starting to set in. He couldn’t possibly be serious; they couldn’t be _stuck here_.

“Not with that much snow packed against it, it won’t.” 

“What?!” She ran to his side and barely stifled a curse when she looked out the window.

“Looks like we’ll be spending the night together,” he said, offering her a weak smile.

“Excuse me?” She narrowed her eyes at him.

“Oh! No!” He flushed and stepped away from her, appearing to realize what he’d said. “No, no, I just meant that you and I are both stuck here for the night. That’s all.”

She sighed and began to unwrap her scarf. “At least I’ve got a book in my locker.”

 

\---

 

If Amalia had to imagine the most horrific scenario in which she could expect to find herself, being snowed into her place of work with Mr. Nowack would be a definite contender. She supposed it was technically better than being stuck here alone, but that didn’t stop her from fantasizing about being at home in her warm, cozy bed. Instead, she was sitting on the old and lumpy couch in the back of the workroom while Mr. Nowack went in search of some kind of bedding. A parfumerie was a lousy place to spend the night - all frills and no real comfort. 

She settled in to read her book as she waited. She’d brought one of her favorites, _Persuasion_ , but given how long she could be stuck there, she rather wished she’d brought a heartier novel instead. Before she could really get going with the book, Mr. Nowack returned.

“I’m afraid it’s not much,” he said, handing her a single quilt. “But it’s all I could find. You go ahead and take it, I’m sure I’ll be fine with my jacket. The workroom is usually pretty warm.”

“Thank you, Mr. Nowack.” She could at least give him credit for being a gentleman.

“So…” He sat down on a nearby chair and looked at her. “Are you tired enough to try and sleep yet?”

She set the book on her lap and frowned. “Not remotely.”

“Neither am I.” He drummed his fingers on the table as he looked around the room, as if searching for inspiration. “I am hungry, though.”

Amalia had been thinking about that same thing. “I’ve still got a couple of pastries that my mother made, but that’s hardly a dinner, particularly split between two people.”

“I wasn’t asking you to share, Miss Balash,” he said, giving her a strange look.

“I didn’t say that you were, Mr. Nowack. I was just being kind - a foreign concept to you, I know.” She couldn’t believe that he had the nerve to be offended when she simply trying to be humane.

“No, I’m sorry,” he said, looking sheepish. “I do appreciate it, I was just surprised. And I can even do my part to return the favor. I’ve got some crackers and preserves in my locker, if you’d like to share.” 

“Deal,” she said, smirking. 

Once they had both gotten the food from their lockers, they set it out on the table. Amalia looked at their offerings - two strudels, a tin of crackers, and a small jar of preserves - and began to laugh. “A feast fit for parfumerie clerks!”

Mr. Nowack laughed with her and raised his strudel to her, as if to cheers. “Hear, hear!”

Amalia figured a combination of panic at their situation and hunger was making her delirious, because at that moment she was thinking, maybe this night wouldn’t be _completely_ terrible.

 

\---

 

“Miss Balash, please give my compliments to your mother - that may be the best strudel I’ve ever had,” Mr. Nowack said, licking the crumbs off of his fingers. “Thank you for sharing.”

“I’ll be sure to tell her.” She smiled, imagining her mother’s response to hearing that she had shared the pastries with the dreaded Mr. Nowack. “What should we do now? It’s not even nine o’clock yet.”

“I was thinking I might turn on the radio for a bit, as long as it wouldn’t be too disruptive to your reading?” He gestured to the book she’d abandoned on the couch. 

“No, that’d be fine with me,” she said, feeling oddly disappointed. 

“Fine?” he asked. Perhaps she was not as convincing a liar as she’d hoped.

She bit her lip, debating how much to say. “I guess I just assumed we might, I don’t know, do something together?” 

“Together?” He raised an eyebrow at her.

“Well, it would be awfully rude to spend the rest of the evening ignoring you.” She was hoping that he would look past the fact that they had spent countless lunch breaks in this same room doing just that.

“I suppose it would.” 

“So, radio sounds like a lovely idea.” She walked over to the radio, a luxury Mr. Maraczek had supplied them in better days. “What kind of music do you like?”

“Oh, all kinds, really. I mostly listen to classical, but now and then I indulge in a good operetta.”

“Me too,” she said, grinning. “Though more than ‘now and then.’ I try to go to the theatre as much as possible. Fortunately it’s not too difficult in Budapest, though it’s a bit more expensive than I’d like.”

“True. At least we’ve got gramophones and records to satisfy us the rest of the time.”

She searched the stations until she found one playing Debussy’s _Suite Bergamasque_. “How’s this?”

“Perfect.” He seemed to relax as soon as the music began. “What is it you’re reading, Miss Balash?”

“Jane Austen’s _Persuasion_.” She watched his face carefully, half expecting him to scoff. Men often seemed to undervalue Austen’s work.

“An excellent choice. It’s probably my favorite Austen,” he said, much to her surprise.

“Mine too!” she said, barely able to contain her enthusiasm. “Everyone always seems to prefer _Pride & Prejudice_, which is of course wonderful as well, but it’s just…”

“It’s nowhere near as romantic as _Persuasion_ ,” he finished, as if he could read her mind. Alarm must have shown on her face, because he suddenly added. “Or something else! Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

She laughed. “While it _was_ rude to interrupt, oddly enough, that is exactly what I was going to stay. I think the beauty of the romance gets overlooked because people are attracted to the plucky wit of Elizabeth Bennet, but I find that I relate far more to Anne Elliot.”

“Did you once reject the love of your life due to the pressures of your wealthy family and now you bitterly regret it?” he teased, though she thought she saw a slight amount of hesitance in his eyes.

“No, but I can relate to being the quiet, plain girl that gets overlooked. Not particularly notable, just...doing her best and hoping for someone to see the good in her.” She looked down at her book, hoping he wouldn’t see her blush. She hadn’t really meant to say something quite as... _intimate_ as that, and to Mr. Nowack of all people.

“Miss Balash, I don’t think you’re plain at all.” 

She looked up at him abruptly, despite the fact that her face must certainly be nearing crimson by now. While “not plain” was hardly a rousing endorsement from most people, from Mr. Nowack it was a significant compliment indeed. His eyes widened as she met his gaze, and he quickly turned away and began fiddling with the empty Mona Lisa tubes on the table next to him. Unsure of how to reply, she busied herself with looking in her book for a moment. She decided that it would be best to continue on as if nothing had happened.

“I wouldn’t have taken you to be such a romantic, Mr. Nowack,” she said, before realizing the possible implication - that she believed or wanted his statement to her to reflect romantic interest, which she most certainly did not. She hastily added, “I mean, to even read Jane Austen, let alone recognize how wonderful _Persuasion_ is.”

“Oh?” he replied, still unable to meet her eye. 

“I expected you to be above such silly things as _love_ and _romance_.” Perhaps a little gentle teasing would move the strange moment out of _both_ of their minds.

Thankfully, it seemed to work. He laughed as he replied, “I feel that you’re trying to bait me, Miss Balash, and it won’t work. These are not silly things, and I am very much a romantic.” 

“From your literature choices, it would seem that your tastes do indeed run on the romantic side. But what about in life? Do you claim to be a romantic there?” The words were out of her mouth before she knew what she was doing. Challenging him on his love life was just _asking_ for trouble. What if he asked her and she was forced to either admit being alone or - even worse - admit to belonging to a lonely hearts club? Once she and Dear Friend were married, how they met wouldn’t be such an issue...but seeing how they currently hadn’t even met face to face, it wasn’t an appealing explanation to have to give.

“Well, as a matter of fact -” Mr. Nowack began, but stopped as the music and lights went off with a sudden click, taking all thoughts of their conversation with them. 

“Oh, no,” she groaned. Could anything else go wrong tonight? 

“Don’t worry,” he said, though she heard panic creeping into his voice. “I know where the candles and matches are.”

“Are they close enough that you can get to them without hurting yourself?”

“I know this store like the back of my hand. I’ll get to them.” 

Amalia sighed as she listened to Mr. Nowack stumble in the darkness. So much for reading and listening to music to pass the time. Once he brought back the candles, there’d be nothing to do but try and sleep.

There was an “ow!” and a thump in the other room, and she had to stifle a laugh. She called out, “Like the back of your hand, you say?”

“Who knows the back of their hand that well, anyway?” he said as he came back into sight, faintly illuminated by two candlesticks. “At least we’ve got enough light to get settled.”

Amalia frowned as she looked at the quilt sitting next to her on the couch. “Mr. Nowack, are you sure you’re going to be alright without some kind of blanket?”

“It’s not like we’ve got a lot of choices, Miss Balash,” he said, gesturing around the room. “Like I said, I’m sure I’ll be fine with my jacket. And while I’m getting mine, would you like yours as well? Just in case, I mean.”

“Yes, thank you,” she said, though she was still not satisfied at the situation. She curled up on the couch, wrapped in both her jacket and blanket, and tried to get comfortable. Without electricity for the radiator, the temperature in the room already seemed to be dropping. “What should we do now to pass the time?”

“Let’s get back to discussing books, if you don’t mind,” he suggested, plopping down in a nearby chair. “What other authors do you enjoy?”

“Too many to list! Flaubert, Shaw, Stendhal, all the Brontes, Tolstoy…” 

“Funny you should bring up Tolstoy, I’m rereading _War and Peace_ right now,” he said, and Amalia felt she could hear the smile in his voice.

“Another of my favorites!” 

 

\---

 

Amalia wasn’t sure how much time had passed before their conversation seemed to hit a sleepy lull, but it was time pleasantly spent. It was certainly not how she anticipated an evening with Mr. Nowack going, and she was so glad to be wrong. She decided to speak to this before losing her nerve.

“Mr. Nowack?” 

“Yes?” 

“I’ve really enjoyed our conversations tonight.”

“I have too.”

“I just wanted to say…” She took a breath, willing herself to continue. “I like you, Mr. Nowack. And I hope that we can be friends.”

She wished she could see his face through the darkness. As she waited for him to speak, all of her self doubts came crashing in. There was an agonizing moment of silence before he replied.

“I’d like that very much, Miss Balash.” 

“Good night, Mr. Nowack,” she said, relief flooding in. “Or, if we’re going to be friends, perhaps I should call you Georg?”

“Good night, Amalia.” 

She was glad he couldn’t see the grin on her face.

 

\---

 

Amalia tried to fall asleep, but exhausted as she was, every little thing seemed to distract her - whether that be her own overactive thoughts, or the constant shuffling noises as Mr. Nowack seemed to be adjusting in his chair. The thoughts were the more treacherous distraction, of course. She kept replaying the events of the evening: she went from bickering with Mr. Nowack to befriending him in the course of a few hours. Was it possible she’d wasted months of good friendship, all because of their petty disagreements? She couldn’t very well stop this train of thought from invading, but she could try to stop (or at least decrease) the noise her new friend was making.

“Mr. Nowack? Georg?” She hoped he was still awake.

“Amalia, is everything okay?” he asked, sounding startled.

“Yes, it’s fine, I was just…” She stopped and thought about what a silly request she was going to make. “I was only wondering if _you_ were okay, it seems like you’re tossing and turning an awful lot for sitting in a chair.”

“Oh, that. I’m just a little chilly, that’s all.” There was a slight waver in his voice that she hadn’t picked up on earlier in the evening. 

Suddenly, she remembered that he only had his jacket for warmth. “Georg, you must be freezing!” 

“Really, it’s fine,” he assured her.

“No, it’s not. I can hear you shivering from here.” She sat up and tried to think of possible solutions, but only one came to mind.

“Honestly, Amalia, it’ll be - “

“You’re just going to have to come over here and share the quilt with me,” she said, cutting him off.

“Excuse me?” he asked in a choked voice.

“You heard me. In matters of life or death, surely life wins over propriety.” She hoped she sounded more confident than she felt. 

“I don’t think it’s quite that dire,” he protested.

“Nonsense. Just come sit next to me and we’ll share the blanket and, well, you’ll be warm again in no time. I’m not going to let you die in the workroom at Maraczek’s.” She felt she was making a decent argument, though it was unclear whether she was trying to convince Georg or herself.

“Are you sure?” He lit a candle and walked towards her, giving her an uncertain look.

She swallowed hard and nodded. “Quite sure.”

He sat down next to her on the couch. Scooting closer to him, she adjusted the blanket to cover them both and prayed that he wouldn’t be able to tell how fast her heart was racing. Next to her, she felt him shiver. 

“Told you you were too cold,” she said smugly.

“Y-yeah, you were right,” he said, sounding far too uncomfortable.

“Georg, really, I don’t want you to worry. I trust you.”

He took a deep breath and seemed to relax a little. Without thinking about it, she snuggled closer to him and laid her head against his chest, as if it it was the most natural thing in the world. Somehow, all of her racing thoughts from before seemed to dissipate as their breathing slowed to a steady, synchronized rhythm. 

 

\---

 

Amalia woke the following morning feeling well rested, despite the crick in her neck and a mild sense of disorientation. She felt an arm around her waist and flushed as she remembered exactly where she was and, more importantly, with whom. She and Georg were half sitting, half lying down on the couch. The arm around her waist was likely the only reason she hadn’t fallen off. 

She couldn’t believe it, but she had just spent the night with Georg Nowack. Not only that, but she had spent the night _in his arms_. The only thing more absurd than the situation as a whole was the fact that she felt absolutely no inclination to move from this position. Somehow, it just felt _right_. She was just closing her eyes to go back to sleep when she felt him stirring beside her.

“Mmph,” he mumbled into her hair. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, Georg,” she whispered, a smile on her face.

As soon as she spoke, a sudden change came over him, as if he remembered exactly where he was. He sat upright so suddenly that she almost fell off of the couch. “Oh, sorry! I’m sorry Amalia, I mean, Miss Balash.”

“Sorry for nearly knocking me off of the couch?” she grumbled.

“Well, yes, but sorry for, um…holding you…?” He looked more uncomfortable than she’d ever seen him. 

“Ah, that.” The sense of peace she had felt a moment ago was rapidly being replaced by embarrassment. 

“Yes, _that_.” He looked at her like she was crazy - which, given how comfortable she had felt sleeping next to the man who been her sworn enemy less than twelve hours ago, perhaps she was. 

She sat all the way up and turned to face him, despite that fact that she was surely blushing. “It’s...okay, Georg, really.”

“Okay?” He continued to give her that look, and an awful possibility occurred to her. What if he thought she meant it was okay as in wanted? As in _normal_? That this was not an entirely new experience for her?

“I mean,” she started, panicking slightly. “It’s not _okay_ okay, I don’t exactly make a habit of sleeping with - or, I should say, next to - strange men, but I -”

“I wouldn’t think that you do!”

“I just meant that I’m not upset with you. We were just trying to survive, that’s all, and if in the course of the night you happened to, well, hold on to me, that’s - “

“Amalia, I need you to know, I wasn’t trying anything.” 

“Of course you weren’t!”

“It wasn’t like I wanted to do that. Not that I didn’t want to! But...” He ran a hand through his hair. “Oh, you know what I mean, right?”

“Yes, I do,” she said, laying a hand on his shoulder. He jumped at her touch before starting to relax. “I understand. I didn’t think you meant anything by it.”

They were silent as they looked at each other, unsure of what could possibly be said next, until they both burst into laughter. Amalia couldn’t be sure who started first, only that all of a sudden everything about their situation was absolutely _hilarious_. 

“What a situation we’ve found ourselves in,” Georg said, wiping his eyes as their laughter began to die down. 

“Could you _imagine_ what Ilona would say if she knew what had happened?” She almost shuddered to think about it.

He was still chuckling as he spoke, “I would rather not imagine that, thank you. But speaking of our coworkers, do you think there’s any chance any of them would come by to unearth the door on a weekend?”

Somehow, Amalia had almost forgotten about the snow outside. “Probably not. I suppose we should go check and see what’s happening outside, though.”

Still, neither of them moved from their spots on the couch. It was quite cozy and she was hesitant to leave that spot. They sat in an amiable peace until the radio blared back to life, causing them both to jump.

“Power’s back on,” Georg said, disentangling himself from the quilt they still shared and standing. “Might be a good sign, as far as getting out of here today goes.”

She felt a pang of disappointment as he left her side. What was _that_ about? Ignoring it, she wrapped herself up in the quilt and followed him out to the front. 

“Look!” He gestured to the window, “I can see some road!”

Amalia stood beside him and looked out. While most of the view was still pure white, patches of road had begun to show through. And though the doorway was not completely free of snow, it appeared to be melted down significantly.

“Are you going to try the door?” she asked

“Amalia, I’ll let you do the honors. I have complete faith in your abilities to open that door, if anyone can.” He stifled a laugh as he said this.

“Very funny,” she said, swatting his shoulder. Hesitantly, she tried the door handle, and with very little effort the door began to move. “It opened! Georg, we get to go home!”

He grinned at her. “Masterful work, my friend.”

She rolled her eyes. “Come on, get your hat and let’s get out of here. Twenty-four hours is _far_ too long to spend in your place of work.”

“I couldn’t agree with you more.” He paused, looking at her seriously. “Miss - Amalia, would you like to go get some coffee and perhaps breakfast with me?”

“I’d like that very much. If anything is open, that is.”

“Fair point. Well, I’ll be right back, and we can head out. Do you have everything?” he asked.

“I believe so,” she said. Minor courtesy though it was, she appreciated his asking.

“Be back in a moment.” 

She watched him walk to the workroom and thought she saw a little more bounce in his step.

 

\---

 

Amalia sat on a stool at the counter while she waited for Georg. There was no reason she should be feeling nervous about going to get coffee, especially after spending a whole night with him, yet here was she was with butterflies in her stomach. She was glad for his friendship but disconcerted by the strength of her response to it. It was easy to write him off back when she hated him, but she felt as nervous as she’d be if they were going on a _date_ \- which they most certainly were not. Taking a deep breath, she told herself the butterflies were merely a lingering response to everything that had happened over the last day. Stress did funny things to people.

Looking at her watch, she wondered what was taking him so long. Fetching a hat shouldn’t have taken more than a couple of minutes, and she’d been sitting and waiting for nearly ten. She walked to the workroom door and called, “Georg? Are you okay back there?” 

“I’m fine, Miss Balash,” he said, barely audible from where she stood. He was sitting back on the couch, looking pale.

She rushed in, alarmed at his meek response and pallor. “You certainly don’t look fine, are you feeling well?”

“You forgot your book.” He held up her copy of _Persuasion_ , his expression unreadable.

“Oh, thank you for getting it, but...are you quite sure you’re well?”

Ignoring her question, he continued, “When I went to pick it up, this fell out.”

She froze, seeing the letter in his hand - a letter from Dear Friend. “It’s just a letter. A letter from, well, a very dear friend of mine.”

He chuckled absently. “I can see that. I hope this isn’t too impertinent, but may I ask, did you meet this friend through a lonely hearts club?”

She blushed, but nodded. “We’ve been...courting, I suppose, for over a year now.”

“And do you care for this man?”

“Very much.”

He looked up at her and smiled - a small, gentle, and utterly sincere smile, such that Amalia had never seen on him. “Dear Friend.”

“You’re acting very strangely, Georg.” 

He reached a hand into his jacket and pulled out another letter - one that looked very, very familiar to her. So familiar in fact, that she almost could’ve sworn it was one of her own. Her heart raced as she reached out to take it from him and confirmed - she _did_ write it. 

“Where did you get this?” 

“Where do you think, Miss Balash?” He shrugged and gestured towards himself. 

“Are you saying….” She trailed off as she worked up the courage to ask. “Are you Dear Friend?”

He nodded.

Suddenly, she felt as if her legs could no longer support her. She staggered to a nearby chair and sat down, her head swimming. Mr. Nowack was Dear Friend. Part of her desperately wanted to deny it, to think the worst of him and assume he somehow formulated a cruel plan in order to trick her, but another part of her felt...well, joyful at the discovery. It made so much sense, she wondered that she didn’t see it before - not that she ever would have let herself see it prior to the revelations of the last twelve hours. But if he really was Dear Friend, which he must be, that would mean that she was in love with him. Could she actually be in love with _Georg Nowack_? 

She looked up at him and was startled to see tears brimming in his eyes. 

“I’m sorry if you’re disappointed, Miss Balash,” he said, standing abruptly and walking towards the door.

“Georg!” She quickly followed suit, stopping him with a hand on his shoulder. While she wasn’t in the least sure of what she _did_ want, she certainly did _not_ want him to leave. Not like this. “Please don’t go.”

He turned to face her and, without even thinking about it, she wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his neck. He tensed for moment before returning the embrace, holding her tightly. As they stood clinging to each other, Amalia couldn’t help but think of how she felt this morning, waking up with these same arms wrapped around her. She’d been confused by how natural and right it felt to be in his arms, and now look at them. She began to giggle at the thought.

He pulled away slightly and looked down at her, concerned. “Amalia?”

“I’m sorry, I was just thinking about this morning.” She was trying desperately to her giggles under control as she spoke.

His eyes widened and he took a step back, so quickly that she almost lost her balance. A slight blush began to appear on his cheeks. “Oh?”

“I was thinking that I should have been intensely uncomfortable with everything last night and with, well, how we awoke this morning,” she said, the last of her giggles dying away as the nature of the discussion seemed to hit her. She swallowed hard and prayed she wouldn’t be misunderstood. “But I wasn’t. Instead, it seemed...well, right. And I had brushed that away, but just now the absurdity of it all hit me. Of course you’re Dear Friend. It’s like some part of me already knew it.”

Georg smiled at her, tentative and, she thought, hopeful. The butterflies in her stomach were back in full swing. He stepped back towards her and took one of her hands in his. “So, you’re...you’re not disappointed?”

“No, much to my surprise, I find that I’m not,” she said, returning his smile until an awful thought occurred to her. “ _You’re_ not disappointed, are you?”

“No, no,” he said, squeezing her hand and grinning. “I’m really not.”

“Good.” She stood on her toes and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, causing him to blush again - a sight which was entirely too endearing.

“What do you say we go get that coffee now? It’s not quite as romantic as I would’ve hoped our first date would be, but…” He chuckled. “Nothing about this is at all what I expected.”

“I say that coffee sounds perfect, my dear, dear friend.” 

She let go his hand only long enough for them to collect their belongings. Soon, she was walking down the streets of Budapest, hand-in-hand with Georg Nowack. There was no place she would rather be.

**Author's Note:**

> find me at amaliabalash.tumblr.com, feel free to hit me up with more prompts which may or may not ever get filled but I'll certainly try :)
> 
> Prompt from Anonymous: Georg & Amalia + getting iced into the store and being forced to spend the night there together (bonus if the power goes out and they have to cuddle because Tropes™)


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